Reflections of an Immortal Waitress: Angelus
by Unitarian Jihadist
Summary: 1816: A tavern in a remote English village gets four visitors interested in a different sort of drink. One of the serving wenches, however, is out to close the taps. Edited
1. Chapter 1

Reflections of an Immortal Waitress: Angelus

1816: A tavern in a remote English village gets four visitors interested in a different sort of drink. One of the serving wenches, however, is out to close the taps.

**Angelus and Darla, of course, are the intellectual property of Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt, and the rest of the Mutant Enemy crew, and the copyrighted property of 20th Century Fox. The Immortal Waitress was Joss Whedon's original conception of the character who eventually became Buffy. My version of Whedon's Immortal Waitress concept is based on an idea that has rattled around in my head for 30 years. **

Chapter 1

The New Place

I no longer remember the actual name of the inn, nor the name of the picturesque village it was in, but they called it the New Place. It was somewhere south of London, off of the main roads and not too far from the ocean.

I assume I had come to the village by way of the continent, maybe France. I remember some of the customers at the New Place saying I spoke my English with an exotic accent, and that usually happened after I spent four or five decades in the continent. I am not sure why England had become my informal home in the past three or four centuries. It certainly is not where I originally came from.

I suspect I must have done something to bring notice to myself in my previous position (and it is my fondest ambition in life to avoid notice). However, even as I reflect on the events I am about to recount, I can not recall why I had traveled to such a remote village, or precisely what event had brought me to such unwelcome notice that I chose to go into hiding. One consequence of a millennia long life is that my poor brain can not contain all of the memories of it. I no longer remember decades, indeed even entire centuries, of my long existence.

At any rate, I eventually happened to this village my imperfect memory has rendered nameless. When I arrived, I believed I dimly recognized the tavern they called the Old Place. Since I did not recall the New Place, I suspected that I had been there before 1410, the year the New Place opened its door.

The New Place was larger than the Old Place, which is to say that it was barely large enough to accommodate four round tables that could seat four men each. Most of the men who came to drink an ale or three were local, either farmers or farm hands. The New Place had two rooms in the back, but few travelers came through the village.

The New Place was owned and run by a married couple in their early forties, who resided in the floor above the tavern. He was a farmer, and spent most of his days and evenings in the fields. His wife, as was common, ran the tavern and inn. She cooked for her husband, their son Ginger, and their two farm hands. She was helped by her daughter Helen, a girl of sixteen who was sufficiently attractive to encourage customers to drink an extra ale or three to stay just a little longer in her presence. That being said, Helen was not particularly good at her job. Too often, she spilled ale and forgot to refill cups. However, for the most part customers overlooked Helen's shortcomings. and not only because of her attractive features and pleasant if somewhat dim temperament. Her mother was a formidable woman, and her father and brother were strapping men of impatient and protective nature.

I came to the New Place with some version of my usual story for the time. Something about a wicked father who wished to marry me off to a lecherous man older than he, or the tragic tale of a fire that left me as the last member of my family. Something to explain why a somewhat attractive woman of young but marriageable age was traveling alone and penniless through the English back country.

I am not sure that the wife, Edna, believed my story (whichever one I told), for she was a shrewd woman in spite of her roughly kind nature. But, with her father and son out in the fields and uninterested in doing much work in the inn after dragging themselves home at the summer sunset, and Helen being poor but earnest help, it was not difficult to prevail upon her my desire for employment. Employment in this case meant little more than a roof over my head (I was allowed one of the rooms in back with the caveat that I would have to sleep in the barn if a paying lodger arrived) and food from her table, but such poor wages were sufficient for my purposes. I was not nearly as penniless as I appeared, but food and shelter for work allowed me to save what wealth I had, and served to occupy my time in the fashion that I prefer.

The pattern of life in a tavern was not unfamiliar to me. I awoke at dawn and helped Edna and Helen prepare breakfast for her husband Edward (the locals liked to call the couple "Ed and Ed"), their son Ginger, and the two farmhands who slept in corners of the barn. These men were already up feeding the chickens and moving the horses and cattle out of the barn before they came in for breakfast. Then, after the men ate their breakfast and went back to work patrolling the fields and checking the grape vines, we ate our breakfast, and Helen and I cleaned up while Edna starting cooking bread and biscuits for the afternoon and evening meals. Helen and I swept out the tavern and scrubbed ale and wine stains off of the tables while Edna checked the fermentation vats. Then we brought in water for afternoon supper, and after we supped we prepared for the evening customers, including the occasional traveler.

As tavern owners went, Edna and Edward were considerate enough employers. Alas, even though my presence made her day to day work easier, my presence was less welcomed by Helen. I unintentionally split the attentions of the young men who came to see her. I worked hard to not draw attention to myself, but some times it was easier than others, such as when I was between sets of teeth (as an immortal, I continually lose and replenish teeth). However, in this village I had a full set of new teeth, and there was only so much I could do to hide my attractiveness without looking like a feral lunatic. Thus did I attract attention away from my namesake, and she did not appreciate the competition.

Also, the competence with which I performed my duties probably contrasted with the awkwardness with which Helen performed hers, which surely made my presence even more unwelcome in her eyes.

It must be said, however, that while Helen on occasion made less than flattering remarks to and about me, and often did not regard me with a friendly expression, she was always outwardly polite and never deliberately cruel to me. So it was that I found myself in sympathy with her plight to the point that I started to contemplate taking my leave of the New Place earlier than I would have normally preferred.

But it was a cruel fate that dictated the day that I left the New Place, and indeed compelled me to leave England altogether for the shores of America. A fate that wore the face of an angel, but had the soulless nature of the worst of devils.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A Quartet of Life Drinking Devils

The travelers came on a late summer evening. They arrived just after the sunset, which was hardly surprising, given their nature. What was surprising was their daring, for most of their kind were not so bold as to enter an establishment inhabited by fourteen stout men, including Edward and Ginger. Indeed, between the men and Helen and myself, the establishment was already so crowded as to make walking the short distance from one side to the other a difficult task. One so difficult that Helen had already spilled four tankards of ale for the young evening. Edna, wisely, stayed in the rear of the tavern filling tankards with ale and the occasional cup of wine.

I recognized the travelers for what they were as soon as they walked into the tavern. My heart sank, for their boldness foretold their intentions, and their intentions were to slaughter the lot of us. The arrogance and cruelty of vampires is universal, but boldness is not. Those vampires who are bold feel compelled to outdo their previous acts of depravity. The very remoteness of our location probably made it attractive to them. By the time the closest authorities were aware of the slaughter in the New Place, these bold vampires would have long since departed in search of new feats of cruelty.

How, you may ask, was I able to so instantly recognize the travelers for what they were? The answer is quite simple. I have destroyed many of their kind during the long centuries of my own existence. Like my own, their strength is mystical in origin. This means that their strength is so great that their weight can not contain it, so they must tightly constrain their movements to even pass for human. As must I.

Furthermore, when vampires do not speak, they do not breathe, and an experienced watcher of vampires can immediately recognize this. Subjectively, vampires have a predatory look to them even when they wear their human faces that can be recognized by an experienced watcher (and I had centuries of experience).

There were four of the monsters. Two of them appeared to be a beautiful couple of some wealth. The female was young appearing, with golden hair and a dress made from silken material that I suspected Edna, much less her daughter Helen, had never seen in all their born days. As attractive as the female was, however, the male was beautiful, perhaps as beautiful in his own way as I was said to be when I did not try to conceal my appearance. He wore a fine dark suit with a dark cloak made, I suspected, in one of the best houses of Paris or London. The suit did not quite fit him perfectly, which led me to believe that it had actually been made for another, one who was no longer among the living. But then, neither was the original owner of the body currently wearing the suit.

The other two appeared to play the role of servants, men of considerable less attractiveness or refinement. One was small and slim and had the appearance of a long, greasy haired human rat. The other was taller and stockier, but still not as tall as the rich looking male, or for that matter Edward or Ginger.

"Hail to you fine folk," the handsome one said. He spoke with an Irish accent, and that alone caused the faces of some of the patrons to darken in suspicion. "My bride and I have been traveling your fine land and find ourselves parched and hungry."

"Then welcome, stranger," Edward said. "Enter and sit with us."

As he spoke, Edward cuffed his son Ginger lightly behind the ear to signal him to stand and give up his seat to paying customers. I opened my mouth to protest, but in truth, the tavern was a public establishment, and therefore already open to the four fiends (who are mystically barred from entering a private residence unless specifically invited by one who lives in it).

The handsome one smirked as he took his "bride's" arm and walked over the threshold.

"See to our horses," the handsome monster said to the two males who appeared to be servants. I knew that they would not actually be seeing to horses (if horses there indeed were), but would instead stand outside and wait to intercept the unfortunates who attempted to flee the tavern once the beautiful male and his lovely companion began to feed.

The two males looked disappointed, and that told me that the handsome couple were indeed their masters.

Our time was short. I was the only one among us who recognized the danger (and in truth, these fiends posed little danger to me, but I have ever remained loyal to my mother's humanity, and for the most part I had enjoyed the company of this family and their patrons, and did not wish to see them come to harm). The press of people made it difficult to move so that I stood between the vampires and their prey (of course, at this moment, they still believed me to be prey as well). However, Helen, who was attracted by the male's beauty even after the announcement of his marital status, also tried to make her way through the press of people, and she was closer to the door than I.

There was nothing more to do about it. Although I am always loathe to reveal my exceptional nature, I knew I had no choice if I was to save the family who had hosted me for the past month or so, or their breathing guests. So, I leaped high and grabbed the closest roof beam overhead and swung over the heads of the seated patrons and Helen to land in front of the two attractive demons.

"No," said I to the beautiful male. "You will not take these people, life drinkers. I will see you transformed into dust before I allow that to happen."

For a moment, all were stunned into silence. Then, as the handsome male threw back his head and laughed, Edward recovered his voice.

"Alice (or whatever name I was using at the time, I am not certain what it was)!" he cried. "What is the meaning of this behavior?"

I did not answer my employer's angry question, however, I was too busy watching the two vampires in front of me.

"I thought the slayer is a girl who dresses in male costume," said the male. "Has she fallen already?"

The slayer was a young woman, rarely more than a girl actually, who was possessed of sufficient superhuman strength and ferocity to overcome most vampires. I had seen but one in my very long life, and that was so long ago that it was during what would have been the normal span of my life. That slayer had been one of my dearest friends. Almost a sister, actually.

I was quite different from a slayer, but I saw no reason to disabuse the male of his notion. Facing a slayer was something most vampires were not courageous enough to do.

Indeed, the female's face was now concerned, perhaps even fearful.

"Perhaps we should leave, Angel," said she.

"Perhaps we should," said Angel, but even as he spoke he struck with lightning quickness, so quick that even I was caught unprepared. His right fist struck me full on the face and flung me across the small room, over one table and onto the next, which would have toppled over if the rear wall had not prevented it. However, I overcame the confines of my skirts and was back on my feet within an instant. I snatched up a solid oak stool in my hand and once again jumped over the heads of the patrons. I struck Angel across the arm with which he reached for the now petrified Helen, and there was a breaking sound as the stool struck his arm for, truth be told, I am substantially stronger than even a vampire or a slayer.

Angel screamed and withdrew his broken arm, cradling it in his good hand. He cursed harshly.

More importantly, his face was transformed to its true demonic aspect, and he no longer appeared so comely. There were gasps and screams of terror throughout the small establishment, but the two vampires and I barred the front door.

I then heard an inhuman growl from behind me, and I turned to see the rat faced male rushing at me from the rear of the establishment. I tore off one of the legs of the stool I was holding, so that it had a sharp and fearful end, and prepared to plunge it into the rat faced monster's chest. That was when the female beast leaped upon my back.

She was stronger than most vampires I had fought over the many years of my existence, which meant that she was a master or sired by a master. Still, even her strength was no match for mine, and I threw her into the attacking rat faced male before he could reach us.

But in that briefest span of time, the monster Angel had taken hold of Helen. He now cupped her chin in his good hand and smiled at me over her shoulder.

"That," said he. "Will be enough of that."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sacred Blood

"You will stop fighting, or I will squeeze this delightful little face until it pops like a grape," said Angel.

I had little doubt that he would follow through on his threat if I did not accede to his request. However, I also had little doubt that he would also fulfill his threat, or do much worse, if I _did_ accede to his request, for our situation had not changed. These fiends did not intend for any of us to leave this tavern alive.

I learned a very long time ago that when things look hopeless, the best thing to do is often the unexpected. So, I turned and pretended to attack the female and the rat faced male, but as I turned I stumbled. I was hoping to offer a more tempting target for the one called Angel.

However, the female saw through my ruse.

"No, Angel," she cried. "It's a trap!"

Her warning came too late, however, for the rat faced male, who sprang upon me, pulled my hair, tipped my head back, and sank his fangs into my neck.

"Perhaps it _was not_ a trap," mused the female as I failed to stop the rat faced male from drinking my blood.

The mechanism through which vampires drain their victims is a fascinating one. The vampire is a blood demon, and the essence of the demon circulates through the veins of the corpse of the person it animates. When a vampire begins to drink, its fangs, which are hollow, literally inject the essence of the demon into the victim with such force that it acts hydraulically, almost as if it was an injection of pressurized water or air. The victim's blood is literally driven into the vampire by the vampire's essence, and the victim's blood is rapidly transformed into mystical strength. I am also told as the essence of the vampire itself literally circulates through the body of its expiring victim, it experiences the victim's pain and fear, and this experience gives it great pleasure.

A vampire can literally drain its victim of most of her blood in less than a minute.

However, I am not the typical victim of a vampire. My body mystically replenished my blood almost as rapidly as the rat faced vampire drained it. Thus, I was no danger of exsanguination.

The rat faced vampire was confused as blood continued to flow long after I should have been drained. He tried to stop drinking and pull himself away from me, but I grabbed him by the hair and held his head and mouth to my neck. The rat faced vampire started to struggle, but I would not release him.

When I finally allowed the rat faced vampire to pull himself away from my neck, Angel and the female were looking at me with dumbstruck expressions. With Angel thus distracted, I was able to pull Helen from his unresisting grasp.

"What...how did she...?" the female stammered.

"I don't know, Darla, you're the eldest of us, have you ever heard of a creature like this?" Angel asked.

As Darla shook her head, the rat faced vampire, who was beyond sated, having drunk the equivalent of blood from a person three times my size, moaned. He tried to pull himself free of my grip. I released him.

After all, he was already quite doomed.

"Something...something is wrong..." the rat faced vampire stammered.

And indeed something was, as an acrid smoke started to arise from his mouth, his ears, his eyes, and most of all, his chest.

"Yes," said I. "Something is wrong. My blood is a heritage from my divine father. It is, in fact, sacred, as sacred in its way as holy water. It is poison to your kind."

The rat faced vampire screamed as flames started to erupt from his chest. Seconds later, he was ash.

It was then that the stocky male vampire entered the tavern from the rear entrance. This one was wiping blood from his chin.

"What has happened?" he asked. "What has happened to Phillip?

I felt a black rage consume me.

"Phillip is gone," I cried. "What has happened to Edna?"

"The food in the back room?" the stocky vampire said. He was a stupid sort, easily distracted from the passing of his companion. He smiled, rubbed his stomach, and belched.

Even as I heard Helen, Edward, Ginger, and the patrons all cry out in horror, I threw the leg of the stool into the vampire's black heart. The stocky demon looked down in disbelief at the wood protruding from his chest. The heart of the vampire is the demon's most vital organ. The heart does not beat, but it does slowly contract and expand, circulating the essence of the demon through its corpse's veins. The heart is destroyed when something that was once alive, but is no longer, is stabbed into it. The typical weapon is wood, but bone or even some forms of stone have also been effective. So, I have been told, is the hand of another vampire.

Alas, when a vampire is destroyed, it turns to dust. So do the clothes it wears, and if the weapon is not in a living hand, the weapon too is turned into dust. Thus, the leg of the stool was converted into dust along with the stocky vampire.

I pulled another leg off of the stool, but by the time I had done so, Angel and Darla had fled out the front door.

I thought about giving pursuit, but as I heard Helen's cries of grief from the back room, I sadly realized that I was needed elsewhere.

* * *

Edna was buried the next day. I stayed with the family for another week, to make certain that Angel and Darla did not return, but of course they did not. I also stayed in order to assist the grieving family with running their tavern. However, with the loss of her mother, Helen seemed to gain a new confidence. Her clumsiness vanished, and she became efficient and effective in her duties. It was also apparent that the patrons feared me. So it was that an apologetic Helen who drew me aside and asked me to leave.

"I know it was not your fault, and that if it was not for you those monsters would have destroyed us all, but you are scaring away our patrons," Helen said. "They say that you are an angel, or a demon who pretends to be the sister to Christ Himself."

"I am neither," said I. "My father is divine, but he is not the Father your patrons are thinking of."

Helen nodded.

"It matters little to me," she said. "Please know that we are all very grateful, including father."

Edward would not look at me, much less speak to me. Neither would Ginger. I gained a great deal of respect for Helen that day. I decided that she was truly worthy of her name after all.

I assured Helen that I understood, and indeed, I was ready to take my leave. I had attracted an excess of unwanted attention. The Watcher's Council, a truly vile organization that controlled the lives of slayers, would soon send its representatives to investigate reports of a female vampire slayer who was not under their control. The Council's hidden masters would be very interested in capturing me and adding my power to their own, but I had no desire to fall into the hands of those old villains.

And so it was that I left the village and went to London, where I met the old Fey gentleman (known in Ireland as a Leprechaun) who protected my wealth. With money in hand, I secured passage on a ship to the United States of America, and consigned my experiences at the New Place to my imperfect memory.

End

**Coming sometime:**

**Reflections of An Immortal Waitress: Buffy (1998)**

**Reflections of An Immortal Waitress: Angel (1977)**

**Reflections of An Immortal Waitress: Serenity (2520)**


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